,' and here Pete dropped his voice and looked very mysterious. I
had opened my eyes for good now; it was getting exciting.

'What did he say?' I asked.

'What you and Clement heard, and a lot more,' Peterkin replied. 'Over
and over again the same--"I'm so tired, Nana, I won't be good, no I
won't."'

'Yes, that's what we heard,' I said, 'but what was the lot more?'

'Oh, perhaps there wasn't so _very_ much more,' said he, consideringly.
'There was something about "I won't be locked up," and "I'll write a
letter," and then again and again, "I won't be good, I'm so tired." That
was what you and Clement heard, wasn't it?'

'Yes,' I said.

'And one funny thing about it was that his voice, the parrot's, sounded
quite different when he was talking his own talking, do you see?--like
"Pretty Poll is cold, wants to go to bed"--from when he was copying the
little girl's. It was always croaky, of course, but _squeakier_,
somehow, when he was copying her.'

Peterkin sat up still straighter and looked at me, evidently waiting for
my opinion about it all. I was really very interested, but I wanted
first to hear all he had in his head, so I did not at once answer.

'Isn't it very queer?' he said at last.

'What do you think about it?' I asked.

He drew a little nearer me and spoke in a lower voice, though there was
no possibility of any one ever hearing what he said.

'P'raps,' he began, 'it isn't _only_ a parrot, or p'raps some fairy
makes it say these things. The little girl might be shut up, you see,
like the princess in the tower, by some _bad_ fairy, and there might be
a _good_ one who wanted to help her to get out. I wonder if they ever do
invite fairies to christenings now, and forget some of them,' he went
on, knitting his brows, 'or not ask them, because they are bad fairies?
I can't remember about Elf's christening feast; can you, Gilley?'

'I can remember hers, and yours too, for that matter,' I replied. 'You
forget how much older I am. But of course it's not like that now. There
are no fairies to invite, as I've often told you, Pete. At least,' for,
in spite of my love of teasing, I never liked to see the look of
distress that came over his chubby face when any one talked that sort of
common sense to him, 'at least, people have got out of the way of seeing
them or getting into fairy-land.'

'But we _might_ find it again,' said Peterkin, brightening up.

And I didn't like to disappoint him by saying I could n